THE 

VANISHED  RUIN  ERA 

SAN  FRANCISCO'S  CLASSIC 

ARTISTRY  OF  RUIN  DEPICTED 

IN  PICTURE  AND  SONG 

BY 

LOUIS  J.  STELLMANN 


ilini!i!i:ii!  i  i  mil  1 1 1 1 1 1  IIIB 


•  I  I  III  I  til  l;l  I  II  HClil  1 1 1  I  I  |!|* 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 


Copyright,  1910 

by  Paul  Elder  and  Company 

San  Francisco 


[iii] 

DEDICATION 

To  you  who  faced  with  me  the  good  and  evfl 
Of  that  mad  frenzy  and  the  aftermath, 

Who  stood,  unshaken  by  the  earth's  upheaval, 
My  comrade  and  my  helper  on  Life's  path. 

To  you,  who  shared  with  me  the  stress  and  danger, 
Who  watched,  with  me,  our  stricken  city  grow, 

To  whom  Hope  was  a  brother,  Fear  a  stranger, 
Needless  to  name  you — you  and  I  will  know. 


[v] 
CONTENTS 


1906 


The  Phantom  Hostelry  .     .     . 
The  Sentinel  ....... 

Strawberry  Hill  Observatory  . 

The  Ravaged  Temple  \ 
A  Portal  of  the  Past  I 


1907 


Twilight  in  the  Refugee  Camp 
The  Old  Hall  of  Justice  .    .     . 


Page 

2 

4 

6 

8 

10 

12 

14 

16 

18 

20 

22 

24 

26 


In  a  Ruined  Garden 


The  City  Hall  Statue 


1908 


Page 

f  ...  28 
t  ...  30 
f  .  .  .32 
t  .  .  .34 
....  36 
....  38 
Vistas  Through  an  Archway  .  40 
In  a  Classic  Ruin 42 

(  4.4. 

The  Old  and  the  New  \ 

(       .     .  46 

Nob  Hill 48 

J 50 

1 


1909 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Like  some  ghost  city  rising  from  night "  —  Frontispiece 


Facine1 

Looking  North  from  Mission  Street,  Paee 

April  21 2 

Looking  East  from  Powell  Street  .  4 
Ruin  of  Iroquois  Apartments,  O'Far- 

rell  and  Leavenworth  Streets  .  6 
Lone  Tree,  Russian  Hill  ....  8 
Strawberry  Hill  Observatory,  Golden 

Gate  Park 10 

Temple  Emanu-El,  Sutter  Street, 

near  Stockton 12 

Ruined  Church  in  Italian  Quarter  .  14 
Portal  of  Towne  Mansion,  California 

and  Taylor  Streets 16 

Interior  Towne  Mansion  ....  18 
Market  Street,  East  from  Battery— 

The  Return 20 

Refugees  Ferry -bound  on  Market 

Street,  April  19 22 

Hamilton  Square  Refugee  Camp  at 

Dusk 24 

Hall  of  Justice,  facing  Portsmouth 

Square 26 


Facing 

Ruins  of  Garden  at  Leavenworth  and  Paee 

Post  Streets  .......    28 

Ruins  of  Nob  Hill  Garden     ...    30 
Dome  of  City  Hall  ......    32 

Statue  of  Liberty  Broken  in  Wreck- 
ing of  City  Hall   ......    34 

Digging  Foundation  of  Olympic  Club 

House      ........    36 

Native  Sons  Monument,  Market  and 

Eddy  Streets      ......    38 

Archway  of  Entrance  to  Nob  Hill 

Residence,  California  and  Jones 

Streets     ........ 

Interior  of  Grace  Church,  Stockton 

and  California  Streets  .... 
Vista  Through  Brick  Embrasure, 

Powell  and  Bush  Streets  ... 
California  Street,  East  from  Powell  . 
Nob  Hill  from  Jones,  between  Cali- 

fornia and  Pine  Streets  ... 
City  from  Nob  Hill  Garden  .  .  . 
View  from  Telegraph  Hill  .  .  . 


40 
42 

44 
46 

48 
50 
52 


[vii] 
PASSING  OF  THE  MODERN  ACROPOLIS 


LMOST  like  a  dream  is  the  memory-vision  of 
that  horror  of  flame  and  palpitating  earth 
which  came  upon  us,  April  18, 1906.  Traveler 
or  resident  in  the  reconstructed  city,  to-day, 
finds  it  difficult  to  imagine  or  recall  the  utter, 
awful  devastation  which  then  prevailed.  Here 
and  there,  as  one  journeys  through  the  town, 
one  sees  waste  places,  as  though  some  ordi- 
nary fire  had  occurred.  But,  from  the  hills, 
where  San  Francisco  may  be  viewed  as  a  whole,  one  sees  only  great 
and  teeming  urban  vistas,  architecturally  imposing  and  complete. 

Yet,  to  those  upon  whose  minds  the  panorama  of  events  in 
the  four  reconstructive  years  is  ineffaceably  impressed,  there  are 
memories  beautiful  as  well  as  awesome.  Among  these  are  the  pictures 
of  that  modern  Acropolis  which  the  Fire  God  created,  that  ephemeral 
and  vanished  ruin  era  which  in  its  weird,  flame-wrought  transfor- 
mation, made  things  of  beauty  out  of  hovels;  which  carved  shapes 
of  classic  dignity  out  of  structural  atrocities ;  which  lent  a  touch  of 
magical,  if  spurious,  age-refinement  to  the  fire-ravished  areas,  akin  to 
the  decadent  and  time-hallowed  grandeur  of  Athens  and  of  Rome. 
It  was  a  feature  of  San  Francisco's  recent  history  which  few 
noted  to  the  full  extent  and  which  fewer  cherished  or  endeavored 
to  perpetuate.  Nor  is  this  strange,  for  there  was  much  of  other  work 
to  do.  Our  pride,  the  nation's  sympathetic  interest  and  the  business 
of  the  world  demanded  that  our  city  be  rebuilt  without  delay. 

And,  how  splendidly  we  responded  to  that  call!  It  has  been 
the  marvel  of  all  men,  the  inspiration  of  all  cities  since  afflicted. 
Ere  the  three-days'  storm  of  fire  had  subsided,  San  Francisco  began 
its  resurrection.  While  the  flames  were  yet  devouring  one  end  of 
the  city,  the  other  end  resounded  with  the  hammer-blows  of  recon- 
structive workmen.  To  the  thousands  of  sympathizers  who  sought 
to  offer  comfort,  we  turned  a  deaf  ear.  We  were  too  busy  planning 
for  the  new  city  to  mourn  for  the  old. 


[viii] 

Such  was  the  spirit  of  our  citizenship,  which  flame  could  not 
destroy ;  such  the  secret  of  our  phenomenal  restoration.  And,  if  in 
our  passionate  energy  to  recreate,  we  subordinated  somewhat  of 
our  esthetic  quality,  surely  that  was  to  be  called  a  virtue,  not  a 
fault.  The  past  four  years  have  been  a  time  for  workers. 

Nevertheless,  I  am  very  glad  that  some  of  us  have  striven  to 
preserve  this  classic  artistry  of  ruin  which  -was  unique  as  it  was 
beautiful.  It  was  a  part  of  our  stirring  reconstructive  life  and  it 
deserves  to  be  depicted.  It  mellowed  the  horror  of  our  desolation; 
it  softened  the  tenure  of  our  grief.  It  uplifted  the  spirit  and  succored 
the  mind  in  depression,  like  an  oasis  of  inspiration  in  the  weary 
desert  of  our  travail. 

So  I,  for  one,  have  endeavored  to  preserve  it  in  picture  and 
song.  It  has  been  a  glad  task  and  one  which  I  believe  to  be 
worthy  and  not  unimportant,  for  there  are  many  to  whom  the  spirit 
of  it  should  appeal.  They  are  not  alone  those  who  know  these 
things  by  heart,  who  looked  upon  these  wondrous  architectural  frag- 
ments first  as  gravestones  of  a  cherished  recollection,  but  later  as 
impressive  monuments  of  new  hope.  There  will  be  many  who  have 
never  seen  our  ruins  or  the  city  that  was  before,  who  will  find  a 
responsive  note  in  these  chronicles  of  a  vanished  era,  rich  in  natural 
splendor,  brief  in  tenure,  but  worthy  of  perpetuation  for  the  sake  of 
sentiment  and  art. 

LOUIS  J.  STELLMANN. 


THE  VANISHED  RUIN  ERA 


[2] 

1906 

My  city!  alas,  my  city! 

I  saw  you,  in  anguish,  slain; 
And  all  of  the  world  is  bitter 

With  Memory's  blighting  pain. 


[4] 

1906 

(Continued) 

I  wander,  a  soul  in  darkness; 

It  seems  that  my  heart  has  bled 
Afresh  with  each  blackened  ruin 

Where  things  that  I  love  lie  dead. 


[6] 
THE  PHANTOM  HOSTELRY 

Ghostly  hostel,  weirdly  looming, 

Through  the  branches,  bleak  and  bare, 
Spectral  shadow-forms  assuming:  — 
You  are  like  a  spirit  glooming, 
Earth-bound  in  its  grim  despair! 

In  your  broken  might  despising 

Habitations  fresh  with  life, 
All  about  you  now  uprising— 
Proud  Decadence,  canonizing 

The  Disaster's  mortal  strife! 


[8] 

THE  SENTINEL 

A  gaunt  survivor  of  the  horrid  fray 
That  raged  about  him,  laying  low  his  mates, 

The  blackened  oak,  grim  ghost  of  Yesterday, 
Stands  sentry  at  the  ravaged  garden's  gates. 

Here,  once,  caparisoned  in  royal  might 
Of  vernal  robes,  he  cast  benignant  shade 

Upon  a  sward  where  it  was  his  delight 
To  shelter  little  children  as  they  played. 

Now,  stripped  of  splendor,  blasted  and  deformed, 
He  stands,  still  faithful  to  his  former  trust, 

Amid  the  shambles  where  the  battle  stormed; — 
A  stricken  hero  of  the  holocaust 


Ho] 

STRAWBERRY  HILL  OBSERVATORY 

Once  it  stood,  a  stately  structure, 

On  a  lofty  eminence, 
Looking  down,  in  haughty  grandeur 

On  a  vast  and  fair  expanse. 
Loomed,  at  sunset,  like  a  castle 

O'er  some  feudal  lord's  domain— 
Pride  of  loyal  knight  and  vassal— 

In  a  medieval  reign. 
But,  as  once  came  men  and  horses 

To  assail  a  duke's  redoubt, 
So  came  Nature's  mighty  forces, 

This  high  citadel  to  rout 
Shattered  now  and  desolated, 

Lies  the  castle  on  the  hill,— 
Monument  of  passions  sated,— 

Regal  in  its  ruin  still 


[12] 
THE  RAVAGED  TEMPLE 

Where  hundreds  kneeled  in  worship  to  their  God, 
Where  swelled  the  organ's  mighty,  rhythmic  pray*r 
And  voices  blent  in  chorused  reverence, 
The  stricken  temple  rears,  like  pleading  arms, 
Its  naked,  fleshless  towers  to  the  sky,— 


[14] 
THE  RAVAGED  TEMPLE 

(Continued) 

Unspared,  for  all  its  sanctity;  unheard 
Its  cry  for  mercy  when  the  flaming  sword 
Smote,  right  and  left,  impartial,  laying  low 
The  house  of  worship  and  the  den  of  shame. 


[16] 
A  PORTAL  OF  THE  PAST 

Like  a  phantom  doorway,  giving 

On  the  Hall  of  Memory, 
Stands  the  broken  portal — living 

Threshold  of  the  Used-to-be. 

Naught  but  space  beyond — below  it 
Debris  of  the  mansion's  fell 

At  its  side,  pathetic,  clinging 
Remnants  of  the  shattered  wall. 


[18] 
A  PORTAL  OF  THE  PAST 

(Continued) 

Gone  the  wealth  of  pomp  and  splendor, 
Treasures  of  the  brush  and  loom; 

Artistry  of  smith  and  builder. 
Mingled  in  their  ashen  doom. 


[20] 

1907 

From  out  of  your  wreck,  appalling, 
Uprising  in  strength,  anew, 

I  hear  you,  my  city,  calling 

Your  favored  ones  back  to  you. 


[22] 

1907 

(Continued) 

And  many  that  left  you  stricken, 
Dividing  throughout  the  land, 

Will  hear  and  their  steps  will  quicken, 
Ah,  gladly,  at  your  command. 


I 


[24] 


TWILIGHT  IN  THE  REFUGEE  CAMP 

Softly,  mystic  'lly  appealing, 

Comes  the  twilight  shadow,  stealing 

O'er  the  camp  of  refugees; 
Like  a  sombre  veil,  obscuring 

All  of  Day's  activities, 
Weary  men  to  slumber  luring, 
In  gray  mezzo-tints  immuring 

Silhouetted  huts  and  trees. 


[26] 
THE  OLD  HALL  OF  JUSTICE 

"Where  once  was  a  clamor  of  voices, 

Loud  warring  in  bitter  debate, 
Where  once  sat  the  stern,  silent  judges, 

Dispensing  the  wrong-doer's  fate; 
Where  slow,  sullen  footfalls  resounded, 

As  prisoners,  heavy  with  gloom, 
Passed  through  the  grim  Gates  of  Confinement 

And  into  the  presage  of  doom — 
There  stands  now  a  tottering  ruin, 

Decrepit  and  old  and  forlorn; 
Hard-smitten  by  Nature's  upheaval, 

Its  power  and  majesty  shorn. 
But  wholesome  and  purged  of  its  vices — 

Refined  by  the  flame  in  its  fall— 
It  seems  like  a  penitent,  ghostly: 

This  shell  of  the  old  Justice  Hall. 


[28] 
IN  A  RUINED  GARDEN 

Memories  of  vanished  splendor 
'Round  the  ruined  garden  cling: 

Of  a  maid,  divinely  tender, 
Watching  o'er  each  growing  thing; 

Of  a  youth  who  gazed,  enchanted, 

Leaning  on  the  fountain's  bowl,— 
Guessing  not  the  gard'ner  planted 
.  Seeds  of  love  within  his  soul; 

While  a  gray-haired  couple,  smiling 
From  a  vine-clad  porch,  near-by, 

Watched— their  aged  minds  beguiling 
With  the  thoughts  that  never  die; 

Dreamed  of  childhood  that  had  vanished, 
Dreamed  of  children  to  be  born. 

Ah!  the  gladness  that  was  banished 
On  a  flaming  April  morn! 


[30] 
IN  A  RUINED  GARDEN 

(Continued) 

Desolate  the  garden,  scattered 

Now  the  ones  who  used  to  roam 
In  its  bowers— withered,  shattered, 

Regal  bloom  and  stately  home. 
#       *       *       *       * 

Yet,  'tis  said,  when  Day  has  ended 

And  good  folk  are  all  abed, 
Phantom  footsteps  oft  are  wended 

To  some  ruined  flower-bed. 

Lovers  tryst,  their  voices  blending 
With  the  fountain's  plash  once  more; 

Stricken  bloom  uprises,  lending 
Scent  and  beauty  as  of  yore. 


[32] 
THE  CITY  HALL  STATUE 

Am  I  to  fall  and  crumble  into  dust, 

My  fragments  trampled  underfoot,  unknown?— 
I,  who  have  stood  for  years  in  pride  and  trust 

Of  power,  regnant,  on  my  eyrie  throne? 

Through  days  uncounted,  I  have  watched,  serene, 
The  puerile,  human  throng  pass,  far  below. 

Silent,  in  mock  importance  I  have  seen 
The  rulers  of  our  city  come  and  go. 

The  honest  and  the  criminal  have  dwelt 

And  wrought  their  destinies  beneath  my  feet; 

Have  legislated  wisely  and  have  smelt, 
Like  hungry  curs,  the  Tempter's  carrion  meat 

Here  stood  I,  calm,  undaunted,  while  the  Earth 
Shook,  in  its  palsy,  like  a  withered  hand 

Here  I  have  watched  the  city's  sure  rebirth 
From  Nature's  fury  and  the  fire's  brand. 


[34] 
THE  CITY  HALL  STATUE 

(Continued) 

Ah,  gruesome  jest  of  Fate!  that  I  have  foiled 
God's  mighty  elements,  to  end  my  span 

Of  life — a  vandal's  prey — to  be  despoiled 
Of  being  by  the  hand  of  puny  Man! 


[36] 

1908 

I  hear  the  ring  of  the  hammers,- 
A  rhythm  of  lusty  might 

To  chorus  a  Song  of  Progress, 
Unceasing  by  day  or  night 


[38] 

1908 

(Continued) 

I  see  you,  my  city,  growing 
To  grandeur  before  unknown; 

I  feel  that  a  splendid  future 
Wfll  soon  for  the  past  atone. 


[40] 
VISTAS  THROUGH  AN  ARCHWAY 

Framed  by  the  broken  archway's  classic  lines, 

One  sees  delightful  vistas  that  should  tempt 

An  artist.  Every  hour  brings  a  change. 

First  comes  the  dawn,  with  faint,  vague  multichrome 

Of  grayish  yellows  that  reveal  a  place 

Of  domes  and  turrets,  silhouetted,  dim, 

Like  some  ghost  city,  rising  from  the  night. 

And  then  the  robust  morn  comes  forth  to  bathe 

All  in  its  hues  of  vital  rose,  to  ride 

On,  like  a  herald  for  the  royal  day 

And  chase  the  ling 'ring  shadows  from  their  nooks. 

All  this  one  sees,  as  if  a  picture,  hung 
In  some  gigantic  gallery,  endowed 
With  magic  to  reflect  the  Nature-mood 
Of  every  hour — through  the  broken  arch. 

Through  it  one  might  have  seen  the  city  grow 

From  ashes  to  the  new  metropolis — 

A  stirring  panorama  of  Man's  power 

And  zeal  and  dominance  o'er  wreck  and  blight. 

Through  it,  at  night,  one  sees  the  gleaming  stars, 

High  overhead,  while,  far  below,  the  town 

Winks  back,  defiant,  at  the  Universe. 

With  many  thousand  lesser  lights  that  shine 

And  blend,  like  an  inverted  Milky  Way. 

Carved  by  the  Flame  God  from  a  mansion's  fronts 
The  archway  gives  no  longer  on  a  hall 
Where  liveried  servants  answered  to  the  ring 
Of  many  guests.    It  frames  a  larger  scene; 
Gives  men  a  nobler  outlook  than  of  yore 
And  typifies  an  era,  nearly  closed, 
When  San  Francisco,  rising,  in  her  might, 
From  stress  and  ruin,  garbed  herself  afresh 
And  showed  the  world  a  newer,  fairer  face, 
Framed  in  the  memory  of  her  late  despair. 


[42] 
IN  A  CLASSIC  RUIN 

Rome  boasts  of  its  sanctified  ruins, 

Time-hallowed  and  grand  in  decay. 
The  age-smitten  temples  of  Athens 

Cry  out  of  a  long-vanished  day. 
They  stand,  in  their  gray  desolation, 

For  ages  historic  and  grim; 
For  passions  that  sundered  the  nation, 

And  lusts  that  Time  only  can  dim. 

But,  here,  in  our  busy  metropolis— 

Rebuilding  as  soon  as  it  fell — 
The  splendor  of  modern  Acropolis 

Was  but  an  ephemeral  spell. 

Ah,  era  of  tragical  beauty 

That  came  with  the  Fire-Demon's  sway! 
You  served  but  to  show  men  their  duty. 

Your  tenure  was  just  for  a  day. 
Yet,  though  you  were  part  of  a  story 

Of  emprises  quickly  regained, 
I  grieve  that  your  mystical  glory 

Could  not,  for  a  time,  have  remained. 


[44] 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

As  a  garden,  Winter-stricken, 

Hears  the  clarion  call  of  Spring, 
Does  a  blasted  city  quicken, 

As  a  vital,  new-born  thing 
With  the  flower  of  Man's  vigor, 

Rearing  to  the  shrine  of  Trade 
Temples  nobler,  finer,  bigger 

Than  the  Fire-god  has  unmade. 


[46] 
THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

(Continued) 

Like  a  sturdy  sapling,  growing 
From  a  trunk  the  woodsman  slew,- 

Devastation  overthrowing: 
Thus  the  city's  Old  and  New. 


[48] 
NOB  HILL 

Here,  in  power,  dwelt  the  nabobs 
On  their  structure-jewelled  hilltop, 
Looking  down  upon  the  valley, 

As  the  evening  shadows  crept, 
Phantom-like,  upon  the  city; 
Watched  the  lights  leap  out  in  battle; 
Saw  the  urban  constellation 

Keeping  guard  while  Mammon  slept 

Here  the  Demon  of  Destruction 
Fought  its  way,  relentless,  climbing 
Steep  declivities  to  conquer 

Splendid  mansions  in  its  lust, 
While  aristocrats  descended, 
Fleeing  with  their  humbler  brothers, — 
Saw  their  costly  habitations 

Fall  and  crumble  into  dust. 

But  the  routed  are  retrieving. 
Once  again,  the  Hill  of  Nabobs 
Is  returning  to  the  glory 

Of  its  former  pomp  and  might 
Stately  structures  are  arising, 
Swiftly,  from  the  sodden  ashes, — 
Architectural  phalanxes 

Scattering  all  trace  of  blight 


[50] 

1909 

And,  now,  in  the  new  metrop'lis 
My  city  I  see,  once  more 

In  all  of  the  old,  glad  spirit 
That  lived  in  the  Time  Before. 


. 


[52] 

1909 

(Continued) 

Again,  in  my  heart  is  comfort; 

Again,  in  my  soul  is  rest 
No  more  do  I  wander,  homeless,- 

Oh,  City-I-Love-the-Best! 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED  | 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY — TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

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on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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RECTD  LD   MAR 


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